


Idiots

by Nym_Blacktyde



Series: Man of Steel Moments [6]
Category: Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Drinking, F/M, Gen, avoiding painful confrontations, platonic moment in an otherwise romantic relaionship, sort of fluff/pre-fluff/or just a tame, that you need more than you realize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nym_Blacktyde/pseuds/Nym_Blacktyde





	Idiots

She knew he would know by now. He would have been in to the office at least once, and when she was nowhere to be found, he would seek out Perry, who would then rat her out like the traitor boss-man he was. Therefore, Lois Lane was doing her utmost best to keep herself out of his trajectory for as long as possible. It had been 6 hours since she had found out, so she figured her diversionary tactics wouldn't hold much longer. Thankfully, the man in question was most likely off dealing with the beached cruise ship she'd seen in the headlines as she marched out of the office.  
The cigarette that she was currently pulling on, her first in 2 months (despite popular blief, she wasn't in fact a chain smoker, it was more of a homage towards her father's habits than anything), was running sub-par compared to it's usual settling effect on her nerves. Clark would undoubtedly speak his mind about that, when he finally found the time to track her down on her cowardly flight from their inevitable confrontation. Her hand trembled as she raised the smoking stub back to her lips, and she hissed a soft curse under her breath, dropping it to the sheet rock below, stubbing it out under foot. She quickly took a pull from the bottle of jack resting next to her on the desk she had dropped onto, the shotglass untouched on the table. Lois Lane meant business when she drank, no shitting around. 

She knew the bartender, Sal, well, as she had frequented the bar since she had first come to work as a lackey at the Planet. She had simply had to walk up to the bar, and tell him she had a headache, and he put her in his private office out back, leaving her with a bottle of the good stuff and a pat on her shoulder. 

Unfortunately, her habits were not unknown to her pursuer. Clark had more than once come to retrieve her from Sal after the more stressful news days. Clark had Sal on speed dial, and vice versa. Traitors. Both of them.

She didn't want to see him, and maintained that thought right up til she glimpsed the almost imperceptible turn of the knob, heard the brush of the door against the carpet, and the soft click as it was closed once again. She didn't turn around, preferring instead to take a long drag from the bottle still held loosely in her grasp. 

“You remember to write up a report for that cruise liner while you were pulling it out of the rough?”

“It kind of hurts my feelings you still don't trust my ability as a reporter. Lifts a 20000 ton ship, doesn't bat an eye, but my ability to use a computer has her wallowing in doubt? I'm obviously doing something wrong here.”

She scoffs, and pulls another swig from the bottle, slamming it down with a little more force than necesaarry.

“How full was that when you got here?”

she rolls her head to fix her gaze on him.

“Full, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered.”

“Mmm, of course.”

His hair is windswept, and his tie is ever so slightly crooked, he had obviously just finished covering up the cape. His eyes are warm, and she's not sure she appreciates it, especially now that the hand not gripping the bottle is shaking again.

“I'm sorry, Lois.”

That does something ugly to her insides, and she swallows another bite of the whiskey, blinking furiously to relieve the ache in the corner of her eyes, still dry. 

“That's kind of a pointless remark, as it's not your fault.”

“I know. But there really isn't anything else to say that fits.”

“got that right.”

He still hasn't moved from the door, giving her her space to decide how this goes, though she knows that he won't leave her here. He doesn't trust her that much.

“Lois, can I take you home?”

“I'd rather not.”

His smile is soft, everything about this other worldy demi-god welcoming, comforting. She hates it.

“I know, but I'd feel a lot better if I knew you made it home tonight. Please.”

She swallows one more burning ounce from the bottle, then uses it to anchor a fifty to the table. She pushes off from the desk, and takes a deep breath when her legs wobble and her vision goes warm and fuzzy. Frankly she's a little ashamed at herself, her father and the generals had taught her better than this.

“It seems I'm not as tolerant as I used to be for this shit.” she states, looking square at him. Sometime when she was getting herself in an upright position, he had wandered over to stand less than a foot away.

“I don't know, it looks like you're trying to give me a run for my money.” She snorts.

“Trust me, this is nothing to my days on the military bases, I developed quite a name for myself among some very well-respected alcoholics.”

He huffs a laugh, then crooks an arm towards her. In a blessedly numb (though she knows is temporary), daze, she loops her arm through his, and he walks her the ten blocks back to her apartment, making small talk along the way. 

Sooner than she is prepared for, they're standing in the foyer of her apartment. She turns from his side and wanders over to her couch, where she slouches over, and stares out at the night lights of the city. Clark quietly makes his way over to sit next to her. 

“It was quick, they told me, but, who can trust what doctors say” she murmurs.

She sees him bob his head in her peripheral vision, the material of his suit's arm brushing against her as he slowly inhales. Seriously, he took forever to take a breath, if you weren't looking for that rare rise of his chest, you'd swear he didn't breath at all.

“He'd be pissed off. Raging about how the fuck he'd ended up dying in a hospital rather than a battlefield. What a fucking bastard.”

It seems that's her limit, and her throat finally gives out on her, and the ache in her eyes transforms into dampness on her lashes.

Clark's arm is around her shoulders, and she lets herself slouch into his side, her head against his chest.

“All fucking idiots.”

his thumb traces circles on her arm

“All who?”

“Heroes. Dumbasses. All of them. You too.”

What felt like his chin lighted upon the top of her head, and his arm around her pulls her closer, as a comforting hum vibrates through his chest. 

“I know. I apologize on our collective behalf.”

A tear slips down her nose, and she can't find her voice long enough to tell him to fuck off, but if the soft lips on the crown of her head are any indication, he knows.


End file.
